


Penance

by chains_archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Boys in Chains, Consent Issues, Dark fluff, Discipline, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:49:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chains_archivist/pseuds/chains_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Cheyenne Dancer</p><p>Just where does Legolas go after the Council of Elrond? And what repercussions were there for his blurting out Aragorn's heritage during the meeting?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Dusk, the archivist: this work was originally archived at [Boys in Chains](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Boys_in_Chains), which opened in 2000 as a multifandom archive for both fiction and art, but then sadly went offline in 2005. To bring the archive back, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2014. Open Doors [posted an announcement](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/1832) and e-mailed all creators about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please [contact the Open Doors committee](http://transformativeworks.org/contact/open%20doors).
> 
> \--  
> Warnings: Spanking, Issues of Consent, Possible NonConsensual Situations  
> Notes: Thanks to Bast for the beta and the wonderfully talented people on the LotR lists who helped with the Sindarin/Quenyan phrases.

"Havo dad*, Legolas." Aragorn's quiet voice echoed loudly in the elf's ears.

And Legolas sat, his legs folding upon command, as if of their own volition. A slight flush stained his cheeks at the belated realization that his errant tongue had taken him across a boundary that he had sworn to himself would remain unbroken.

Legolas's eyes flickered quickly about the council group, a chill prickle of dread danced along his spine. Though none gave sign that they had heeded his outburst, he knew that by both word and deed he had all but proclaimed his hopeless love to all whom had eyes to see and ears to hear.

Elrond, not so much by word, but rather by a slight shifting of position, a softening of stern feature seemed to acknowledge the hopelessness of love for a mortal Man. It was rumored, among the Sindar, that Elrond had once chosen wrongly to trust his heart to a mere Man. Thus, Legolas did not fear Elrond's opinions so much, even though he knew it was Elrond's own daughter Arwen, who held the heart of the man that Legolas had become enamoured of. He sensed rather, that the older elf sympathized with his pain.

Frodo, who was even now being revealed as the Ringbearer, seemed oblivious. Though the periannath did glance quickly away when Legolas's gaze fixed upon him. Gandalf merely quirked an eyebrow at him, and Legolas knew that he would have to answer to the Maiar for his careless tongue, yet he feared not the wizard, for Gandalf was kindly and Legolas was certain that he, himself, had wrought no irreparable harm.

Frowning, Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his gaze briefly rested upon the dwarf. Why Gimli glowered at him with a strange burning anger simmering but poorly hidden beneath his stoic facade, Legolas was unsure. Yet he wagered it would not bode well. Still, elves did not have to answer to the likes of Gimli, son of Gloin. It was highly likely that just by *being* an elf, Legolas had incurred the surly dwarf's enmity. Legolas could not resist a tilt of his chin in silent challenge to the creature, humor surely sparking in his eyes by the way Gimli did stiffen.

Boromir glared at the elf, before dismissing his words with a callous disregard. As if throwing down a gauntlet in challenge of a duel, the Man of Gondor's words reverberated through the small clearing. "Gondor has no King, Gondor needs no King."

Parting his lips to speak, once more, on behalf of the Dunedain, a slight movement brought his gaze to Aragorn. He paled, then felt his cheeks heat when Aragorn's calm gaze skewered him with silent command. He closed his mouth abruptly, dropping his gaze to a study of his hands. His jaw jutted stubbornly, but he refused to look up once again. Though it had not been his place to speak, he could not regret his defense of the son of Arathorn.

His heart had belonged to Isildur's heir for many long seasons, since the first he had heard the husky voiced laugh of the Dunedain amidst the leafy bowers of Rivendell. He had been running messages between his Father's realm and Imladris that spring. Before he had entered the valley of the Bruinen, his party was set upon by fell creatures. Though he and his comrades battled bravely, they were outnumbered and it looked to go poorly with them. It was then that Aragorn had swooped into their midst, carving a swathe through the yrrch as if they were dead brush before fire.

Larger than life, powerful and well muscled, the mortal Man had woven his dance of death. Legolas stood over one of his wounded comrades, protecting the fallen from those who dared to dart past the avenging fury. The elf had been moved both by the fury and the beauty of the man in his courage.

It was only later that he learned who their rescuer had been. Aragorn had made it easy to like him. The Man had brushed Legolas's apology aside as would a long-time friend who did only that which was expected of him. Walking with him, the elf found him intelligent and conversant on many subjects.

During his stay that spring, they had hunted both food and fell beasts together. They laughed together, wrestled together and swum naked beneath the starry sky.

Indeed, so often did they company with each other that many an elf teased that they were brothers born and separated upon birth.

Stories were told, and embellished, laughter rang through the blooming wood and Legolas felt his heart beat rapidly whenever the Dunedain approached. Though he did realize the danger, he could see no help for it, but to fall in love with Aragorn.

The day Legolas meant to speak of it, he had come upon the Man entwined in embrace with Arwen. Soft words were exchanged and quiet vows, though Aragorn refused her spirit-gem. Yet Legolas was without hope. He knew it was but a span of moments, as Men counted time, before the gem would be accepted. For who would deign deny the beauteous Evenstar? It was then that Legolas promised himself to keep close his heart and to stand guard over Aragorn's. For he loved the Man enough to want him to be happy, even were that happiness not within Legolas's embrace.

It took several long moments for Legolas to realize that the discussion about the council had turned heated, so deep had he been within his own thoughts. Pausing long enough to replay the last remarks through his mind, he could only be dismayed by the Son of Gondor's stupidity.

"Have you heard nothing that Lord Elrond has said? The ring must be destroyed!"

Well intentioned as his words were, a melee erupted with the dwarf Gimli leading with insinuation of insult. Even Elladan and Elrohir, Lord Elrond's sons, so forgot themselves as to stand and raise their voices in angry accusation

Sensing that the ring's evil influence was wreaking its havoc upon all within the council, Legolas still could not bring himself to stand down in the face of the dwarf's antagonism. He welcomed the thought of battle, for it gave him something upon which to focus his thoughts.

It was in the fierceness of the arguments, Gimli standing toe-to-toe with Legolas and radiating fury like a drenched hedgehog, that Legolas was brought short by quietly spoken words meant for him alone.

Warm air tickled his sensitive ear and he imagined he could feel the brush of moist lips as Aragorn spoke to him. "Do not compound your transgressions, Legolas, son of Thranduil. Tonight, when Ithil waxes high in the arc of the night sky, wait upon me in my chambers."

Startled, Legolas made as if to speak, but Aragorn had all ready passed him by to kneel before the halfling, Frodo, and pledged his sword in service to the quest.

Indeed, Legolas could do no less. Not only was he son of Thranduil, and thus believed he owed some small measure of payment for Oropher's pride and for Thranduil's mistakes; his heart belonged to the Dunedain and he would not see him go unprotected into the darkness of Mordor.

Before Aragorn or aught else could gainsay him, Legolas spoke passionately, "And I my bow."

He felt naught but disdain when the dwarf, Gimli, swore the strength of his axe to the hobbit's protection and ignored the dark look cast his way. Nor, did Legolas give it much thought when Boromir made his reluctant offer.

It was enough to know that he would company Aragorn upon this quest and that he would have his back.

Much of the rest of the meeting passed in a blur. Aragorn caught his gaze meaningfully as the council began to break up and he found himself tensing, unknowingly.

Ignoring, for the moment, those who would waylay him, Legolas made his way through the milieu. There was much to do and even more to gather before the quest could begin. Decisions must be made as to which supplies would be best to take on the long journey. There would be need of healing herbs and maps, and further counsel with Elrond, Gandalf and Aragorn.

He wished to make extra arrows to fill his quiver, and some to spare. As well, he needed to sharpen his knives, though in actuality he knew them to be sharp as when they had been forged and he just sought busy work to fill the time betwixt now and Aragorn's summons.

The thought of Aragorn caused his heart to race as he remembered the Man's quietly spoken command. For Legolas was under no misapprehension, he knew that he had been commanded to appear before the Man in as regal an expectation as if Thranduil had spoken.

Strange for Legolas to feel time pass but slowly, he who was usually untouched by the passage of days. Suddenly, though the beauty about him had not dimmed, the anticipation of what needs Aragorn bade him visit him within his rooms swelled through him, like the waters answering Ithil's call at high tide.

Finally, finally the afternoon fled into the sundering sun and shadows grew long. Legolas sat quietly upon an intricately carved bench of white stone, his mind wandering elsewhere whilst his hands saw to the sharpening of his blades.

When Ithil rode high in the bow of the night sky, Legolas found himself ghosting quietly through the halls of Imladris. He was aware of Aragorn's rooms, much as he was aware of his own heartbeat, for in the blush of his new found infatuation, he had learned all that he could of the mysterious ranger.

Stopping hesitantly outside the arch that led to the inner sanctum of Aragorn's chambers, he found his courage fleeing him. Licking suddenly dry lips, Legolas scratched lightly upon the lintel to let the Man know that he was without. The quiet in the halls seemed absolute, so stark that the sound of a small night insect nearly made him jump as it broke the silence.

Unsure, but loath to disobey the Dunedain, the elf slipped quietly into the shadowed chamber. A flicker of his gaze showed him the open and sumptuous arrangements of Elrond's foster son's rooms.

Sheer draperies woven of spider silk imported from his own Greenwood and dyed in rich shades of cream and browns, embroidered with golden flowers fluttered about the carved arches in the cool of the evening breeze which brought teasing scents of pine and oak and athelas. Some woody scent burned in a small dish upon a chest of deep burnished mallorn. Candles adorned the surface of an intricately wrought vanity, a silvered mirror reflecting the flickering light. The light of Ithil slanted through an arch that led to an open terrace.

There were no doors within the Last Homely House as none would think to intrude on the privacy of someone's personal chambers. The open architecture was as free and open as the elves themselves, and Legolas was un-surprised by the lavishness of Aragorn's room.

It was with a start, he realized that he was not alone in the rooms. In the center of the room was a bed, such as was the nature of Men to possess. Large and commanding the attention, four posts rose high upon each corner. Matching silks hung to the floor and were pulled back to reveal the deep bronze of the coverlet reflected in the dim light. And here sat Aragorn. Aragorn, quietly watching him with eyes dark and unreadable.

There was something in Aragorn's unswerving gaze that made Legolas feel like a youngling, barely out of his majority and the elf found himself blushing. He tilted his head defensively, a small pointed tongue licking nervously at his lips. "Aragorn."

The dark man raised his chin in silent acknowledgement, his steady contemplation unbroken. When Aragorn finally spoke, it was like an arrow slamming into the elf's heart. "I am unsure that you should company us upon this quest, son of Thranduil. The trust between us has been broken. I think it may be wise for you to beg Lord Elrond to seek another among the elves."

All blood drained from the normally pale elf's face leaving him as pallid as a barrow-wight. "Surely you cannot mean this? I have stood fast in your defense since first we met. We have each saved the other grievous injury more times than can be counted!"

"True enough. Yet you did betray me."

Anxiously, Legolas sought for some levity in Aragorn's bearing, some small sign that it was but a jest, though a poorly worded one. The grim demeanor of the Dunedain gave little hope that the elf had misunderstood. The calmly spoken words of his friend cut with deadly accuracy, no less lethal than when Aragorn wielded a sword, and Legolas could not help but wonder if his heart did bleed from so deep a wound.

Raising his hands up in entreaty, palms stretched toward Aragorn in appeal, "I meant no betrayal. Only just did it fever my blood to hear the Son of Gondor declaim you so, when by all rights he should have bent knee to you and swore his allegiance!"

The man shook his head, glancing at the elf out of those dark unfathomable eyes. Wherefore had Legolas ever thought mortal man easy to read? He shivered beneath the deep gaze and wished fervently that he could win back the trust he had lost so unthinking.

"Please, Estel... "

"I cannot trust you who sell my secrets for his pride."

"'Twas no great secret!"

"Still. It was not yours to tell."

Legolas flinched as if struck, shame colored his cheeks. He could feel tears prick hotly at his eyes and he gave a shaky breath, "My friend, my brother, your words cut me. All here but Boromir and the periannath did know you to be Isildur's heir. S-surely no harm will come from words spoken in haste?"

Again, Aragorn shook his head, denying Legolas's words. "You are well passed the age to be passion blind, Legolas."

"Is there aught that I could do to gain back that which was so unknowingly destroyed?" He blinked rapidly wishing his voice had sounded much more firm and less fearful.

Aragorn's gaze passed over him, as if reading a hidden passage within a text. When the Man spoke, his voice was dark and calm. "Would you then make amends, Legolas Thranduillion?"

"Of a surety!" Legolas breathed shakily.

Gesturing, Aragorn spoke in the same even voice, "So if you behave in a youthful, passion blind manner, so, too, should your punishment reflect your action. Think you not?"

"I do not understand."

"It is custom among Men, though I think it is unknown among elves, that when a child has committed a breach of etiquette, that he be chastised."

"You wish to strike me?"

"No. I would spank you. Upon your bare bottom, as an undisciplined and unruly child would be taught to watch his tongue."

Unsure that he had heard aright, the young elf took a half step towards the nearest archway, shaking his head in denial. "As you have said, I am beyond the years for such treatment."

Aragorn's cool voice sliced through the rapid pounding of Legolas' heart. "I am disappointed, but it is your choice." The Man pointed, "There, the door. But, do know, that unless the scale is balanced, I would you return to Mirkwood from whence you came, rather than company us to Mordor. There in the Dark Lord's lair we need only those companions that are both stout of heart and trustworthy. Upon each other, our lives rely."

Hurt mirrored in Legolas's eyes and another flush stole over his cheeks and he found himself glad of the dimness within these chambers. Though his voice trembled, he faced Aragorn square and proudly, "No need. I will submit."

A strange heat stirred within his body, and Legolas found himself curiously reluctant to meet the Dunedain's stare. He let his gaze dart about the room restlessly, touching briefly upon a half-written parchment upon the desk at the far side, the fluttering curtains, the glimmer of Ithil, each singular flame upon the carved chest and finally again upon the Man sitting stoically waiting for Legolas to move.

"How... " The elf swallowed clearing a throat thick with roiling emotions, "How do you wish to do this thing?"

"You may lay across my lap."

Legolas's eyes flew to Aragorn's impenetrable gaze, then slid away. The elf gave a short, abbreviated nod, and walked, lacking his customary grace, over to the human to stand in uncertainty. As he stood staring down, eyes riveted to Aragorn's lap, he felt as if he stood upon a precipice. Fear stumbled through him at the slow stir of arousal as he contemplated lying across the Ranger's lap. How could he hide this from his friend? The very thought of such closeness stirred his blood. His sex gave a slow throb of anticipation and Legolas shivered.

"Legolas." Aragorn's voice suddenly seemed deeper, huskier, laced with forbidden meaning. "Across."

Guiltily, Legolas knew he was delaying. One glance into the stern face of his friend and he knew that the man was aware of his tactics, as well. He could feel the tips of his ears burning and he fluttered his lashes closed to hide the heated gleam that he was sure waited to betray him. He peered at the man through shuttered lashes.

Aragorn sat sternly regarding him. There was no give in that expression, no hint of possible forgiveness. The man's calm demeanor neither demanded nor yielded, simply waiting as a good hunter for his prey to come to him.

Again that slight prod, "Legolas." A statement, not a query. Aragorn was waiting, yet his posture spoke of an ending of patience.

Girding what little dignity he could about himself, Legolas caught and held Aragorn's gaze in a last flare of defiance. Yet there was that within him that was anxious to surrender to the Man. He knew he could never have the soft words of love he longed to hear, nor the feather caress of a lover's touch, yet here, would be something uniquely his.

This memory of closeness between himself and Aragorn could be held against the cold of future despair when the Man and Arwen had become a pairing. This means of patching a broken trust, his penance would always be his.

Legolas tried to imagine Aragorn demanding the Lady Arwen to lie across his lap and failed. He could no more see Aragorn chastising Elrond's daughter, than he could see Aragorn kissing Saruman. Nor could he conceive of that Lady in so undignified a pose.

With an economy of motion and a deep breath, Legolas placed himself across Aragorn's lap. Aragorn was of a height, that the elf found he could not quite kneel fully and he squirmed uncomfortably seeking to situate himself in a less precarious position. Finally he lay still, unsure what to do. Legolas's heart thundered in his chest, crashing against his ribcage like a storm sundered oak. He could feel the firmness of Aragorn's body and his own member leapt and hardened between them.

Concentrating so hard on controlling his body's wayward impulses and the whirl of thoughts conflicting like eddies of opposing streams of water, Legolas started when Aragorn's deep voice brought him abruptly back to himself.

"Cross your wrists behind you, Legolas." The Man's voice almost seemed gentle in the wake of so much grim demand.

A slight trepidation niggled at the corner of the elf's mind. Tossing his long hair out of his face impatiently, he supported himself upon the edge of the bed with his hands, twisting in Aragorn's lap. He almost fell to the floor in an attempt to glimpse his friend. "I... do... not... " Legolas's voice trailed off as Aragorn's eyes narrowed in suspicion, the Man's mouth thinned in disapproval.

"You have given your consent, Elf Prince. Do you choose to withdraw now?"

"No." The quiet denial felt pulled from his very depths, and turning, Legolas lay face down, once more.

He hesitantly crossed his wrists at the small of his back as if he had been bound so. He started when Aragorn grasped both wrists tightly in one large hand, pulling him back until he felt the strain in his shoulders and his back was slightly arched

Aragorn's scent filled his nostrils, heavy and musk-sweet like a stag in season. He could feel the flex of muscular thighs beneath his abdomen and the strong grasp grinding his wrists lightly together caused his nipples to peak.

The slide of silk across suddenly sensitive nipples was excruciating and a soft gasp puffed from between full lips, his eyes fluttered closed in dismay. He had thought he could do this thing--this penance that Aragorn asked of him to rebuild the trust betwixt them without betraying himself.

He was an elf, after all, and though young for his kind, he had many more years' experience than this mortal man did. He failed to take into account that he was as a youth in love, having never given his heart before and so found himself trembling like a leaf in the chill autumn winds of Mirkwood

"Aragorn?" He was unable to keep a light quaver from his voice as his body reacted to the close proximity of this mortal man who held his heart unknowing. He had thought he could control his reactions to him, yet his body did betray him. His member swelled and throbbed tellingly against the thigh he lay across and Legolas felt himself burn with humiliation.

Twisting his wrists Legolas tried Aragorn's grip and found it firm, and though easily he could break free, he knew to do so would be a second betrayal of trust from which, perhaps, there could be no forgiveness.

"Lay you still unless I give leave to move, my friend." Aragorn's command though spoken quietly had the effect of a shout and Legolas stilled instantly, taking small rapid breaths through his mouth.

A sense of shifting, and lifting, and he felt Aragorn's fingers lightly brush against the curve of his buttocks as he lifted the tunic to expose the round curve of his arse. A hitched breath shuddered through Legolas as he struggled to remain still and control his recalcitrant body.

Then the elf felt the smooth soft material of his leggings slide slowly down his buttocks to mid-thigh, leaving him exposed most vulnerably. Even the tips of Legolas's ears burned, and he could not but jump when Aragorn lay his sword-callused palm against the ripe swell of his buttocks, his thumb brushing lightly along the shadowed crevice.

Unable to control an inadvertent surge for freedom, he fought to stand, only to find there was little purchase in his current position.

"It is too late, Legolas, to gainsay your word, lest you would breach trust, again."

Legolas could have sobbed his anguish and frustration, his blood rushed through him so quickly he felt dizzy and lying upended and exposed across the Man's strong thighs did him no little good either. He shifted restlessly in Aragorn's unforgiving grip, sending an entreaty to Elendil that whatever penance the Man chose to exact that he would do so and quickly!

The heat of Aragorn's palm was like a brand, burning wildly through his body, leaving him shivering and weak in anticipation. Caught up as he was in the startling sensation of the Dunedain's thumb caressing the border betwixt the cheeks of his buttocks, Legolas was totally unprepared for the first blow.

Though of itself, the blow was not unduly painful, still the stinging slap of Aragorn's hand across his unprotected backside elicited a startled yelp. Biting his lip, to prevent any further shaming of himself, Legolas had little time to gather his scattered composure.

Aragorn swiftly followed the first blow with several more heavy-handed slaps in the exact spot, until Legolas thought his arse must needs be bruised. Without warning, Aragorn changed the pattern of blows, raining sharp, quick smacks about Legolas's buttocks. He moved lower, peppering the elf's upper thighs until Legolas though his entire backside from the tops of his legs up were a matching blaze for the raging emotions roiling through him like a forest fire.

Small gasps were beginning to escape him at each branding impact of hand against tender flesh. He could not contain a small cry as his flesh heated beneath the assault. Aragorn surrounded him. The musk-filled woods scent of the ranger assailed his nostrils, the Man's thighs flexed beneath Legolas's weak struggles.

Aragorn kept his arms pulled taught, leaving him arched painfully and unable to wiggle away from the worst of the blows. Legolas was sure the burning of his face must match in color the heat of his buttocks and he twisted his head away, letting fall a curtain of silken hair to hide his dismayed features from the man's scrutiny.

The very force of Aragorn's mastery sung through him, sending his sex rigid and weeping with need. A small mewling sound of dismay mixed pleasure forced its way passed his lips as his body betrayed him. How could he have lived two centuries without knowing this about himself.

How could the fierceness of Aragorn's commands sing through him like wildfire, sending every nerve ablaze and quivering for the next fall of his hand? Did he truly enjoy being hurt and humiliated thusly? How could this be? How could he have not known how he would quake and quiver before the power and beauty of Isildur's heir? How could he know that his wayward body sought such pleasures even in pain? Or were it pain in such pleasure?

Was it merely that it was Aragorn commanding his obedience? Demanding his surrender and submission, touching him, finally, if only in this way?

He writhed upon the man's lap, the pulse of his cock like the beating of his blood, rushing like the Falls of Rauros. A small whimper led to another cry and then he could no longer hold back the soft sighs and moans and pleading sobs.

Legolas body betrayed him fully, his hips rose towards each blow begging for the next. And would fall to grind his needy organ against the man's thigh as if the elf were a wild animal in heat. His body thrummed with his need and shame washed through him. Tears began to accumulate and trail down his cheeks unchecked. Surely the man would know now that Legolas could not be trusted. For the elf had kept all of this from him, willfully.

It was then, deep in his fear and dismay, that Legolas's sharp ears caught the hint of a whisper of spidersilk against the polished wood. That sound, small as it was, struck him as an arrow through the heart of a deer. The thought that there was an observer to his humiliation and disgrace blazed through him.

His thoughts flew like birds before the hunt, surely Aragorn would not disgrace him so. He could not allow anyone to see him, a Prince of the Greenwood, the son of Thranduil reduced to such straits. He had brought Aragorn to this. His pride had brought himself to this.

And whence now the betrayal, he of Aragorn or Aragorn of him? Didst the man invite a guest to view his shame? Who did watch the Prince of Mirkwood as he lay willing victim to a mere Man of Numenor? The specter of his Father's displeasure rose before him.

Even as Legolas made to rise, he felt the grip about his wrists tighten, grinding the small bones painfully together and eliciting a small, uncontrolled gasp of discomfort. He struggled as the wildfire of passion and fear consumed him. Aragorn's legs shifted beneath him so that one of the Man's legs imprisoned those of the elf before Legolas could gain purchase on the floor for his escape.

Aragorn's voice thrummed through him. The man's voice was low and dark with some unnamed emotion, "I have not done with you yet, melethron-ne.*"

Legolas fell limp and helpless across the Man's knees, surrendering entirely. There would be no escape until Aragorn freed him. He allowed each harsh smack to roil through him, the only focus in his confusion. He sobbed his frustration and fear. His body was no longer his own, but commanded by the man he loved. He was helpless in this mix of ecstasy and pain. His body drawn tight and quivering like the string of a drawn bow, needing, desiring release.

At Legolas's surrender, Aragorn gave his burning backside a few more harsh blows, but in his neediness, he did not notice when they became more of a caress. He was unable to stop the small abortive movements of his hips as he wantonly sought the pleasure of fuller contact with the Man's body.

Aragorn released his arms and Legolas allowed them to fall limply, the stinging sensation of blood flowing once more unimpeded through shoulders a much smaller misery in the plethora of sensation surrounding him. His body quivered like a too tightly strung bow, small pleading sounds wavered in the air.

Heat suffused Legolas as Aragorn slid one hand between his legs, fondling the elf's iron-hot erection.

"Please..." had that small begging sound been him? He gave a convulsive sob. Aragorn tightened his grip around the throbbing pulse of Legolas's sex and stroked firmly.

Fingers flicked across his lips and he opened his mouth, sucking on them avidly, needing to take a part of Aragorn into him, wanting to please him, and needing him so badly.

A dark chuckle wove its way through the heat coursing like wildsong through his flesh, "This is how I like to see you, my prince. Beautiful and needy. Wet with passion and desire. Willing to do aught for me. Who owns you, lirimaer?*"

Aragorn's other hand tickled along the shadowed valley betwixt his buttocks and Legolas felt the star-fire of Earendil gathering in his loins. The Man's dampened fingers pushed gently into his body. But Legolas was so lost, he would have none of it and reared like a stag in heat back against the hand, shoving himself brutally onto the questing fingers.

When Aragorn crooked his fingers and stroked that sweet spot hidden deep within the secret recesses of Legolas's body, it was as if windswept flames leapt and danced across his flesh. The star-fire pulsed in one bright great flash, rushing through his body, heat, as of a fever flushed his aching flesh, a river of molten liquid, like mithril, in its purest form flooded through his body. He rose up and pushed desperately into the hand holding him, pushing backwards against the hand inside him, no longer knowing what he wished for, what he needed only knowing that he needed, mewling his helpless appeal. "Amin mela lle!* Saes! Saes!* Im-boe le-si!*"

Aragorn twisted his fingers within the elf's vulnerable body, ruthlessly massaging the elf's pleasure spot. Legolas's entire body reacted as if a wildfire licked at the great roots of the trees of Mirkwood. The elf's breath came in short panting gasps. A mewling protest twisted anxiously through the air.

The elf went rigid, arching up on shaky arms and pushing back against the fingers impaling him.

Surely that small voice had not been his? "Elendil! I burn! I burn! Estel....!" The wailing cry was ripped from him in the pulsing tide as his body shook helplessly, his orgasm exploding from him in as series of waves, leaving him spent and trembling.

Unable to support himself in such an awkward position any longer, Legolas slid to the floor at Aragorn's feet, his hair hung in damp tendrils about his face hiding it from the Man and he rested his head against Aragorn's knee. Soft keening gasps brought air into his starved lungs.

"On the bed, Legolas."

He felt Aragorn stroking his hair, dim in his understanding, he sought to obey the command of his beloved's voice. With Aragorn's aid, he struggled to his feet, near collapsing across the bed.

"I wish to check you for damage, a'maelamin* in the center... on all fours."

Hazy thoughts fought to get through the mist sundering his mind as he complied with his only anchor to reality. He positioned himself upon the green silk coverlet as Aragorn decreed. Bringing himself to kneel on all fours, his body still shivering in the aftermath of his pleasure.

He felt the bed dip and move, and Aragorn came up behind him, resting one broad callused palm against the curve of his arse. It branded him as Aragorn's as surely as this night had made him willing slave to the Man.

Aragorn leaned over his back, the heat from the Man's body surging through Legolas. "This will ease the pain, my prince." So saying, Aragorn smoothed a cool healing gel over Legolas's upraised buttocks, causing the elf to jump and tremble yet again. Then with a surety that left Legolas gasping for air, Aragorn pushed the gel into the dark opening of his cleft. Sudden fear reared it's head within the elf, as Legolas remembered why this was wrong on so many levels and he tried to twist away. "Arwen?"

The Man grasped Legolas's right hip in a bruising grip. "Do not pull away from me, Legolas." Aragorn growled deep in his chest and pulled the struggling elf backwards into his lap.

Legolas felt Aragorn's hardness pushing at the opening to his body and reared up, clawing at the air in front of him. And then, suddenly, Aragorn was within him and he was being transfixed upon the throbbing hardness of the man, being owned by him in all thoroughness. "No!"

It hurt. It burned as Aragorn's manhood entered him, ruthlessly refusing withdrawal, conquering inch by inch of the new territory. Legolas felt his entire body quake and mold to fit the Man within himself. Each small push of Aragorn's hips impaled the elf further. He felt as if he were on the plains of Mordor, all ready, the air burning his lungs as he tried to draw in air.

Aragorn looped one arm in front of Legolas and began to finger, tickle and stroke the elf's renewing erection. His breath was hot and moist as it teased against one pointed ear and Legolas cried out in the ecstasy and shame of his need. So filled was he, he writhed against the twining sensations of the man inside of him and without, he almost missed the whispered words against his ear.

Aragorn blew tendrils of hair away from Legolas's nape and whispered in soft kisses against his un-protected neck, "Be at ease, Legolas, I think the Lady may fancy a three-ing." Aragorn nipped the delectable column of Legolas's throat causing the elf to shudder as if wind-wracked. "Arwen is very fond of you."

With a small movement of his hips, Aragorn forced his cock deep within the elf's body. Holding Legolas tight against him, he began to thrust slowly and gently, angling his entry so that his cock hit the mysterious center of pleasure with each forward motion, dragging back against the hidden nub causing Legolas to shudder with each withdrawal.

He licked along the column of the elf's neck, tasting the sweet salt tang of elven sweat, he bit against Legolas's ear, sending lightning flashes of quicksilver races rapidly through the dazed elf's blood. Legolas reared in reaction, crying out helplessly as Aragorn pulled him down again into his lap.

In dark honeyed tones, Aragorn whispered against Legolas's ear, sending him into a paroxysm of shudders. Sweet promises and wanton suggestions twined seductively into the elf's heart and Thranduil's youngest twisted in pleasure sated regard. "Who do you belong to, a'maelamin?"

With each slow, torturous piercing of his flesh, Aragorn demanded an answer. The man's hand swept up and down Legolas's chest, rubbing at his nipples until they were drawn so tight that Legolas thought he would surely fly apart into ecstasy from that touch alone. He let his head fall back onto Aragorn's shoulder, trembling with passion's fire anew as Aragorn claimed his body. His cock throbbed with re-awakened enthusiasm, dancing against his belly and thighs with each sharp stab of Aragorn's manhood deep within his body.

"Will you leave me no dignity?" Legolas barely managed to gasp.

Aragorn punctuated his demand with a savage thrust of his hips, plundering, claiming, branding Legolas as surely as if he burned his name into the elf's flesh. "Who... do... you... belong... to!"

A soft sob accompanied his capitulation. "You... I am yours... Ai! Saes! Estel... "

At these words, Aragorn's thrusts became more powerful, he pushed Legolas down onto all fours, following him down to lean over the elf, Aragorn's muscled body covering the elf's slighter form. Legolas felt the Man grab a shank of his hair and twist, pulling his head back at a painful angle.

Aragorn rode him mercilessly, slamming into him and Legolas gave himself over to the tide of passion. Letting the wash of heat and power surround him and carry him on waves of passion, he felt himself lifted and lifted and lifted... He was flying... flying and mid-flight--the Man bit him, drawing blood. Legolas was poised on the pinnacle... danced along a precipice of sensations, pleasure and pain intertwined until one was the other and both sent him crashing like the waters of the Falls of Rauros tumbling head over heels onto the rocks below. And he was lost.

He wailed his own release as Aragorn stiffened, the Man's yell twining with his as the pulse of Aragorn's seed seemed to scald its way deep into his body. Legolas fell, flat, exhausted--a broken child's toy among the disarray of silks and linens covering the bed.

Aragorn's weight rested upon him fully. Legolas drifted between the here and now. His perceptions muddled. So easy to just drift... to let go... Aragorn drew the elf into his arms, and Legolas cuddled there, needing the solace and reassurance of his love's strong arms. Legolas shifted restlessly in the Man's arms, looking up at him, questions and fears brimming upon his lips, "Aragorn?"

"Rest now. Do not worry melme... Time enough on the morrow."

From the look upon the ranger's face, Legolas knew that he would get no more from the man, now. Content to wander into the halls of dreaming, he laid his head upon the man's shoulder, thinking, nay hoping, that the morrow would, indeed, sort out this confusing conundrum.

It was long before Legolas's breathing slowed and steadied, the elf's eyes slowly taking on the empty look of Reverie. Aragorn strummed his fingers through the long, luxurious locks, wiping sweat dampened tendrils tenderly back from Legolas's smooth face.

Aragorn looked up as the bed shifted as Arwen settled herself on Legolas's other side, a smile of greeting and love quirked his lips.

"He is very beautiful, beloved." The raven-haired beauty reached down to stroke through the soft gold of Legolas's hair. "A Three-ing. Do you think he will agree?"

"I know not, my Lady. You know elven hearts and desires better than I, what do you feel?"

" It is you he loves. It is only a question whether he will follow his heart or the dictates of his Father." Smiling sweetly, Arwen bent to brush a soft kiss upon Legolas's tear stained cheek. "I think he will join with us. He will accept me only so he may be with you. But I do not think he will begrudge us our joy."

"Among elves, a three-ing, though rare, is not unheard of. The elves will accept him. And in time, his Father will forgive him, for Legolas is full-grown." Aragorn's expression grew grim. "But men? Will he hold the courage to face his doom among the bitterness of men?"

Sighing Arwen shook her head, "I do not understand Men. Some small role would needs be found for him within the White City's halls, to protect him from the angry tongues that would harm him."

"Does he hear us?" Aragorn took Arwen's hand, still tangled in Legolas's hair and kissed the back of her knuckles reverently.

Arwen touched the Man's stubbled face with a slender fingered hand, cupping his jaw. "I do not know, Estel. It is a matter of whither he walks while in Reverie--how far and how deep. He is aware of us, I think. And most likely will know what we speak."

With an inherent regal grace, Arwen rose from the bed, a teasing smile playing about her lips. "If I did not know that you loved us both, I would be jealous. Yet, I think it best you tarry here, tonight. It would be meet for you to be here when he becomes aware again. I think that he will wish to bolt, like a wild colt from the horse-tamer's corral. Do not lose him, for us, Estel."

Aragorn eased back down onto the bed, pulling Legolas tightly against him.

"No fear of that, my lady. Now that we have him, I have no intention of letting him go."

Finis

***********

**Author's Note:**

> *Havo dad - Sit down  
> *lirimaer - lovely one (courtesy AJ Matthews)  
> *melethron-ne - my love  
> *Amin mela lle - I love you  
> *Saes - please  
> *Im-boe le-si - I need you now (courtesy of AC)  
> *A'maelamin - beloved
> 
> Sindarin Dictionary Project:  
> https://web.archive.org/web/20081216163312/http://www.jrrvf.com/hisweloke/sindar/index.html


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